


The Jaguar Extravaganza

by WritingYay



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anniversary, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cute, Don't own the tropes but own my writing of them, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, Jamie is a little shit, M/M, Misunderstandings, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: Things you need to know:1. Jamie Bell is a mischievous little shit.That is all.





	The Jaguar Extravaganza

**Author's Note:**

> A cutesy little fic to brighten your day!
> 
> Thank you as always to my heavensfallingaroundus for your live reactions while beta-ing, you truly make me smile :)

“I don’t think our smart meter is working.” Taron shatters Richard’s first-thing daydream by thrusting the small digitalised box in front of his face. Richard has to blink a few times, because he’s sure he was just staring at a mug of black coffee, but eventually the regimented numbers flashing at him register. 

“In two hours of being awake, we’ve spent £9.30 on gas?” He snorts and raps at the screen with his knuckles. “You’re right T. S’broken.” 

Taron turns the screen back to himself to stare at it mournfully. As his left hand clutches the device, the band sat on his fourth finger catches the dawn hue and dazzles lazily in the warm light. Choosing an engagement ring to match Taron’s personality had been difficult to say the least, but Richard was happy with his choice. It was silver, with rose-gold lining, and had an open slit along the top that allowed the hint of copper-tone to peek through. The ring adorned a small diamond that looked very similar to the stud Elton had gifted Taron for his birthday all those years ago; something that Taron still religiously wore. Most actors grow bored of being haunted by one role (Richard learned a long time ago to contort his lips into a smile whenever he heard _the King in the FUCKIN’ North_) but Taron survived on Elton comparisons and their love-affair film generally. Richard was a good fiancé. He was. However-

“Anniversary coming up.” Richard says slowly, putting his empty mug into the skin with a clunk. Taron looks up from the smart meter with a frown, and _where has he managed to pluck a screwdriver from for fucks sake?_

“Whatcha’ got me?” He replies cheekily with a wink that would normally make Richard blush. Yet this time, a horrible sinking feeling pitted in his stomach because, well; he didn’t have a bloody clue. 

“Now that would be telling.” Taron’s eyes survey Richard carefully as he leans forward to press a short kiss on his lips. “Why, what’ve you got me? An’ I swear to Jesus, lad, if you’ve got me anything to resemble Budd in Bodyguard for one of your little role play ideas then I’m bloody leaving.”

Taron throws his head back to laugh, his pecs shuddering under his tight t-shirt. 

“Now that’s an idea.” He says, mock-thoughtfully, and catches Richard’s arm quickly when the older man turns to walk off with a heavy sigh. “Nah, I promise I haven’t. Anyway, it’s got to beat last year, right?”

He lifts up his hand and reverses it to display his ring. Something possessive erupts in Richard at the mere sight of it, even though he placed it on that finger twelve months ago. The world knew that they belonged to each other, but at least now they had something to physically show for it. Property of Richard Madden: hands the _fuck_ off. 

“Something to beat last year.” Richard repeats, and saying the words aloud sends alarm bells crazy in his head. Fuck, what the hell could he possibly get to rival getting engaged? Honestly, he didn’t need something to beat the promise of forever, he just needed to get Taron something that didn’t feel like an anti-climax.

His fiancé shrugs, and promptly deposits the smart meter in the bin along with the casing he’s managed to prise off. “I’ll go and check the gas meter before I ring someone about the fault. I’ll be damned if anyone tries to charge us a few grand for a hot shower a day and the kitchen appliances whenever you try and boycott Deliveroo.”

“Not today Satan.” Richard salutes him with a nod. Taron steps out of the back door, and shimmies along the brick to stick out his tongue through the panoramic kitchen window. The Scotsman rolls his eyes, because he’s marrying a child. A thirty-something year old man-child, with the voice of an angel and the thighs of a Greek God. Taron presented an image to Hollywood of this sophisticated and addictive professional, but secretly he was a shopaholic hiding awful cooking skills and an obsession with animals and cars.

Richard stops dead from his position bent over the dishwasher, and nearly smacks his head on a cupboard when he straightens with a gasp. Taron’s anniversary present- oh what a _fucking brilliant idea_ and he would have absolutely no clue-

“I need your help.” Richard immediately demands when Jamie picks up the phone after three monotonous rings. He gets a resigned sigh in return that crackles over the speaker.

“With what?”

“I know what I’m gonna get Taron for our anniversary, but I’ll need your help to keep it a secret.” He flits his eyes out of the window to keep an eye on his fiancé, who’s staring blankly at their gas meter like it’s the female body. Clueless; furrowed eyebrows and drawn lips like it had personally offended him. Taron reaches out to flick at a switch, before slapping a hand to the side of his face in restless boredom. 

Jamie snorts. Laughter echoes around him, followed by the tell-tale swipe of harsh wind. He’s at the beach then, lucky git. “Unless it’s the means to grow his very own Elton John, I don’t think anything you buy is going to live up to last anniversary.”

“This present has great potential,” Richard backhands firmly, while wondering if he should ring an emergency engineer from British Gas due to the pure fear quickly clouding Taron’s face outside. “It’s perfect, Jay.”

“You got _engaged_ last year.” His friends reiterates with a scoff. “Th’fuck is gonna top that?”

A wide beam tugs at Richard’s lips, so he turns away from the window to hide his glee. “A car.”

There’s complete silence, followed by an uninterested grunt. When Jamie comes back to the phone, his tone seems to be a hybrid of incredulous and amused. “Say again?”

“A car.” Richard can’t keep the excitement out of his voice. It’s a _perfect_ idea, for fucks sake. “A Jaguar E-type, just like he’s always wanted.”

“Go on?” 

Richard wanders into the living room, paranoid that Taron would hear him over his blinding confusion surrounding red numbers and colourful buttons, to flop onto the sofa. “When T was promoting that shite Robin Hood film, he did an interview with Radio One and that Ali Plumb guy-”

“The one with the glasses?” Jamie interrupts and Richard hums with agreement. 

“Uh-huh, anyway, they were talking about tights- you know Taron, any excuse to chat about his arse- and this Ali bloke asked how he would feel if costume had asked him to wear anything Lincoln green.”

“You’re melting me’ brain, Rich.” Jamie deadpans. 

“Twat,” Richard chastises with no real warmth, but doesn’t let him ruin his flow. “So Taron responded that he wouldn’t mind the green if it was a Jag E-type.”

Jamie seems to grimace over the line. “But that interview was _years_ ago, man.”

“And?” Richard was undeterred. The image of Taron’s face when he would see his brand-new car was too good of an opportunity to miss. Plus, it would earn Richard some very useful brownie points _thank you very much_. “It’s a fuckin’ beautiful car, and he can’t say no to it.”

He gives his friend a moment to think about it. Then, with all the enthusiasm of a puddle, Jamie concedes. “Fine, I’ll help. I love that boy just as much as you do.”

“You’re a star.” Richard pumps the air gratefully. “I’ll make sure he knows of your involvement when I’m reaping the rewards.”

“Don’t think about me when you’re shagging.” Jamie sounds disgusted, and Richard can’t help but laugh. They engage in idle chit-chat for a few minutes more, only saying their goodbyes when Richard hears the back-door slam shut. Taron stalks through the archway still grumbling to himself.

Richard bites his lip to stop himself from smiling. “Any luck?” 

He gets a glower in response that could burn metal, so he raises his palms in a placating manner.

“Who was that?” Taron gestures at the phone with his head. 

“Jamie.” Richard shakes it in his grasp before slipping it into his pocket. “Just a catch-up.”

“He okay?”

Richard drags himself up from the sofa with a groan, making Taron bite down forcefully to stop himself from throwing an unwelcome quip about age at the brunette. “Yup. Little princess is starting school in September.”

“Jesus.” Taron wrinkles his nose up at that. “That makes me feel old.” He starts rifling through the top drawer in their wicker unit with a deep frown to locate the notebook they’ve written down their adulting numbers in; emergency plumber, electrician, publicist, decorator and so forth. 

“I’m three years older than you so shut it.” Richard swats him on the arse as he passes, already trying to work out where to find the nearest Jaguar garage. 

“You off?” Taron doesn’t look up from his scouting. 

“Uh, yeah.” Richard shrugs on a light jacket, even though the sun was already beating down. “See ya’ later.”

He gets a muffled acknowledgement in response when the front door slams shut. Now, who’s gonna have a green Jag?

-

A week and several calls to far-off lands later finds Richard in a car showroom vibrating out of his skin. Jamie’s expression is a confusing mix between delighted and horrified when the car salesman whips off the velvet sheet to reveal Taron’s new car. 

“I thought it was going to be green?”

Richard bats away Jamie’s opinion with a disinterested shrug. “Yeah, but the man at the car-wrapping place looked like I’d shat on his kids when I asked so I didn’t bother.”

“Uh,” Jamie begins, but dissolves into laughter. “So you went with _blue?_ It’s also a proper bright blue, Rich, like… I ju-he’ll love it I know but-”

“It’s royal blue.” Richard reveals, extremely impressed with himself. The colour was a bit shocking at first, yeah, but it couldn’t have screamed _Taron_ more if it tried. Even the Jaguar man had blinked profusely at it when it had arrived from Belfast, but Richard couldn’t give two shits. It was bloody fantastic. 

Credit to him, Jamie does try and keep a straight face. However, the thought of Taron in Elton’s opal sunglasses driving a Christmas bauble around Aberystwyth causes him to loudly snort behind his hands and melt into shuddering giggles. Richard glares at him with wide eyes and smacks him in the ribs.

“It’s a classic!”

“Oh Jesus.” Jamie wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and stifles his hysteria by chewing on the pads of his fingers. “Taron, the poor bugger, has got shit taste.”

“I like it.”

Jamie raises his eyebrows, and shakes his head. His fingers itch to reach for his phone and send a picture of it to Kate, just to brighten up her day. “You would.”

Richard sniffs, all hoity-toity, and opens the driver’s door to ease himself in. He leaves one leg hanging out like a GQ photoshoot and leans back to gaze at Jamie out of the windscreen smugly. 

“I am _so_ getting laid.”

The salesman looks away in embarrassment as his cheeks flush red. Jamie groans and walks over to physically pull his mate out of the car.

“Fuck off.” He slams the door shut and pins Richard with a murderous glare, who continues to wink at him. Turning back to the poor showroom guy, Jamie conceals his expression into a presentation of polite sympathy. “Now, who do I have to speak to about arranging this monstrosity to be stored in my spare garage?”

The following day, Jamie pokes at his carbonara whilst listening to Taron rant about arts funding cuts across the country, only properly tuning back in when he hears the phrase he’s been dreading.

“Eh?”

“Anniversary present for Richard.” Taron repeats, with a smile nudging against his lips that Jamie knows _can’t_ be good. “I’ve got an idea.”

Jamie ignores the feeling of dread climbing up his throat, because surely whatever Taron was dreaming up couldn’t be worse than a giant blue spaceship. “Yeah?”

Taron’s cutlery makes a horrible scraping noise when he drops them onto his plate, and the guy sat at the table next to them sends daggers their way. He fishes his phone from his pocket and taps away for a few moments. Then, he smirks at the screen and passes it to Jamie, pointing at a section of text with his thumb. 

“Read that bit. It’s an interview Madden did with The Guardian to promote _Rocketman_.”

It’s a long-ass article, but luckily Taron’s already highlighted the bit that held any importance.

_It’s very sexy, very loud, with a bit of a growl… You can’t write that, I sound like a proper twat. But I love cars, I love driving._

Taron can picture Richard stuttering his way through that in utter mortification, and he can almost hear the easy Scottish brogue growling through ‘sexy’, all tantalising and suggestive. In turn, Jamie rolls his eyes at the screen so hard he glimpses his brain. 

“I’ve never read a more Richard Madden sentence in my life.” He passes Taron’s phone back to him before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “But I sorta’ need an explanation.”

Taron puts the phone down and steeples his fingers together under his chin. “You remember Richard’s Jaguar S-type? It’s the car he had when we were filming _Rocketman?_” Jamie nods slowly. “That’s the car he’s talking about in the interview, obviously, but it got me thinkin’…” He pauses, and Jamie blanches. Déjà vu settles over his demeanour, so he shakes himself gently to disperse the prickly feeling. “How much would he love a new Jag?”

“What,” Jamie forces his voice to remain steady, even though it was evident that Taron was drifting onto a very risky track. “Buy him another one?”

He’s greeted by an incredulous frown as Taron huffs out a breath. “No, I’m thinking of buying him a car I’ve wanted for years.”

Jamie hides a bursting smile behind his hand because _oh this is too good_. In reality, he should stop this mess before it even has a chance to mix, but ah shit the inevitable outcome would genuinely make his life. He could die happy if it all goes to plan; yeah, he might have to go into hiding for a while to escape probable murder, but _fuck_ would it be worth it.

“Which is?” 

Taron looks up from the drinks menu with his finger pointing at a strawberry daiquiri. “Um, it’s an old car- a Jaguar E-type.”

Huge confetti cannons explode in Jamie’s heart and he ducks his head to hide his laughter.

“What a good idea! They won’t be cheap though.” He says, mind drifting back to how his eyes had watered when Richard had shown him the price tag of Taron’s. It was a pristine classic car, yes, but that many zeros shouldn’t be seen on anything other than property.

“Jamie.” Taron chuckles with a soft shrug. His eyes droop into raw vulnerability, and his jaw extends to nibble on his lower lip. “The man _proposed_ to me last anniversary. I have to get him a present that means something to the both of us.”

His eyes sparkle with sincerity, causing Jamie to sigh and assess the true meaning of this beautiful coincidence for a moment. He loves the two pricks nearly as much as they love each other. It was right that they were doing their bests to please each other.

“I know, T. I think it’s a golden idea.” Friendly support tastes like stars. 

“Shit, do you think he’ll like it?” Taron twists his fingers together nervously and peers at his friend through a wince.

Then again, Jamie can’t believe this is happening. “He’ll love it.” He smacks his hand down on the rickety table, upsetting their plates and sloshing Taron’s lime soda all over the rim of the glass. “In fact, I’m sure he called those cars _classic_ once.” 

Taron beams, smugly. “He’s got brilliant taste, my man.” The massive grin Jamie’s sporting is a bit unnerving, but Taron just assumes he’s hit jackpot. Plus, the respect Jamie was giving him was encouraging, surely?

In reality, Jamie just couldn’t shake the image of the men gifting each other matching cars. The idea was absurd, but it also had the potential to rival last year’s anniversary for shock-factor. Something seems to whir in Jamie’s brain, and when he speaks again his voice appears to have raised a few octaves. In fact, he squeaks like he can’t actually contain himself. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he mutters, his blown eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why don’t you get him a _blue_ one?”

-

Taron has to just click his fingers to magic a car that was an absolute doppelgänger to the one Richard had hidden in Jamie’s second garage. Jamie shouldn’t be surprised really; Taron Egerton was a whirlwind of chaotic energy with the ability to charm anyone into submission. His most recent conquest turned out to be the owner of a private car dealership specialising in vintage lines.

“Look at it!” He exclaims proudly whilst Jamie is carefully analysing a photo of the car he’s apparated from somewhere.

Jamie just makes an affirmative squeak and hands the photo back with a carefully constructed smile. “Yeah, it’s uh… blue?”

Taron frowns petulantly. “That was your idea.”

“I know,” Jamie assures him, the vivid blue from the photo continuing to permeate his eyeballs. “Looks wicked.”

If pride was wealth, then Taron had struck gold judging by the increasing hue of achievement brightening his eyes. He smirks at Jamie and straightens his collar; overzealous and smug.

“Can I ask a favour?”

Jamie groans. “Another one?”

Taron winces. “The car is in a backroom at the dealership for now, but is there any chance of me hiding it in your garage so I can surprise Madden with it?”

His innocent puppy-dog plead has Jamie groaning resignedly and clutching at his face with bent fingers. “If ya’ must.” Then he remembers the _other_ huge metal peacock currently being stored in his spare garage, and he shrieks like an asphyxiated owl. The noise claws through Taron’s ears and he claps his palms over his head with a panicked grimace. “I meant, ah shit, sorry because there’s loads of- uh, crap, from Kate’s parents’ house so-”

He gets cuts off by Taron’s impressive death glare. “That’s fine.”

“I can hide it somewhere else though?” Jamie backtracks quickly, remembering that he needs access to it to form the surprise. “Just drop the keys off when you pick them up and I’ll sort out the rest.”

Taron, bless him, only attempts to stare him down for a millisecond before he concedes with a sigh. “Uh-huh.” 

A crooked grin. “Awesome.”

“You alright?” Taron asks.

“Golden.” Jamie replies slowly. He frowns. “Why?”

“You’re acting weird.” His best friend tells him with a gaze piercing enough to border on intimidating. “S’like you’re up to something.”

Jamie blows his cheeks out and chews on the inside of his lip. “Just trying to make sure this anniversary is one to never forget for you two.” He puts some warmth behind it to sound benevolent, and lets out a huge breath when his mate drops it with a shrug.

_Kate had taken one look at the two sets of keys her husband was throwing into his bedside drawer that evening and thrown her hands up in the air. She had made Jamie promise he wouldn’t tell her what he was up to unless it involved the police. Jamie had pointed out that two vintage E-types in drug-trip-gone-wrong-blue wouldn’t be the easiest cars to steal. He had a good point, so Kate had let it go._

Watching Taron sleep is an honour that should be bestowed on everybody before they succumb to the Earth. His eyelashes fluttering at his cheeks combined with the lazy rise and fall of his torso seemed to be the absolute epitome of peace. Richard drinks it all in on the morning of their anniversary, and wonders how the fuck he got so lucky to be able to stare at _this_ every day.

“Stop staring at me,” Taron’s slumbering form suddenly moans at him even though his eyes are still glued shut. “You fuckin’ weirdo.”

Richard chuckles to himself and revels in the golden pleasure as Taron blinks awake slowly to pin his fiancé with raised eyebrows. 

“Why?”

“Uh, because it’s strange?” The blonde points out, chucking an arm across his face to escape the tendrils of light crawling through the curtains. “Wha’ time is it?”

“Eight.” Richard answers after he’s rolled over to check the digital clock. 

Taron nods. His body tenses as he flexes his toes under the duvet, which causes the sweats he’s wearing to slide even further down his pelvis. The material was clinging on for dear life against the ridged muscles dappling Taron’s pale skin, but Richard wasn’t about to complain. “Perfect, Jamie said he’d have your present ready at eleven.”

“Jamie?” Richard frowns. “He’s sorting it?”

“Yep.”

Richard processes that before shrugging. “Huh. He’s getting yours ready too; I’m assuming we’re swapping gifts at the same time.”

Taron hums in agreement, and twists onto his side so he’s facing the other man. 

“Excited to see your present?” Richard pokes him in the stomach and he cowers away with a huffed whine. Taron rolls his eyes sarcastically, yet still an excited smirk pokes through.

“In-_cred_-ibly.” He says, his Welsh accent strongly highlighted by the lilting emphasis that rumbled deep in his chest like an engine. Annoyingly, he knows how irresistible his accent is, the git, so leans on it at every opportune moment to make Richard weak at the knees.

Richard just grins at him, his smile lines fanning out from the corner of his mouth in waves. 

“Good.” His voice drops teasingly. He couldn’t _wait_ to see Taron’s face when they unveiled the car he’s wanted for years. A ring last year and a classic vehicle this year; T was a lucky boy. “Because mine is gonna dwarf yours.”

Taron scoffs. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns with a laugh. “Unless you’ve got me an Academy Award, you’ll see that I’ve got you the best present this year.”

He watches as Richard’s expression folds into confusion. “But, T, you’ve already got one of those?”

“I know.” Taron replies innocently. “So I’d get it engraved and then gift it back to you, so you don’t feel left out.”

“Dickhead!” Richard scolds through a laugh, before rising up on his forearms to grab Taron’s wrists and force him onto his back. Ignoring the surprised gasp escaping the man beneath him, he swings his body over to bracket Taron between his thighs. Within a second, Taron melts into hazy seduction through fluttering lashes from shocked prisoner. He fixes Richard with that fucking smirk and pokes his tongue out between his teeth to swipe across the seam of his lower lip. 

“And what?”

Richard suppresses the urge to snort. Instead, he slowly cranes his neck down to capture the other man’s parted lips in a heated steal, earning him a choked gasp. His fingers drift from the corded muscles pulsating at Taron’s waist, up the softer bumps of his abs, and all the way to his jaw to cradle his face gently. Taron’s eyes are glazed over like stained glass when he brushes his thumbs over the fragile skin under them.

“Happy anniversary, baby.” He murmurs quietly. There’s a pause before Taron grins up at him in worship, and ghosts his hands over Richard’s arse to bring their bodies flush together. It’s the last time either of them can form a coherent thought for a while, and that’s that. 

Therefore it’s no surprise that they turn up twenty minutes late to meet Jamie, who’s leaning against a brick wall staring at his phone.

“Sorry, sorry.” Taron gushes when Jamie arches his eyebrows at them both pointedly, pulling their friend into a hug and kissing his temple. “We got held up.”

“You got held up?” Jamie reiterates sceptically, and lets Richard hug him too. “Or you were too busy shagging to notice the time?”

“Uh,” Taron flails. “Both?”

With a resigned sigh, Jamie shakes his head and leads them to the end of the wall. 

“Both of your presents are round here.” He gestures towards a big open space, similar to an abandoned air-field, with a grin threatening to burst out of his face. “You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed being a part of this.”

“Okay.” Richard turns to Taron with a vulnerable chuckle. “I really hope ya’ like it.”

“Likewise.” Taron nods, and quickly steps forwards to kiss him. 

With one last glance at Jamie, who’s already worked out the distance to his car so he can sprint when being undoubtedly chased, they disappear around the infrastructure.

There’s telling silence, before a very loud: “What the fuck?!”

Jamie plasters nonchalant raised eyebrows onto his face and follows them onto the tarmac. At first glance, the two men standing awkwardly in front of two shiny, identical E-types looks like a bad _Top Gear_ episode. Taron’s eyeline moves jaggedly between the cars and Richard with incandescent confusion, and Richard displays the epitome of pissed off- clenched jaw and all. The sight is just perfection, and Jamie can’t hold it together any longer. He dissolves into hysterical laughter at the annoyance clouding their features, clutching at his chest with bent knees and watering eyes. 

“Something wrong?” Jamie sing-songs and Richard stalks over to him, completed by jumping facial muscles and flushed skin.

“_You._” He threatens murderously, growled and purposeful. His finger jabs into Jamie’s chest sharply. “The fuck is this?”

“Your anniversary presents?” Jamie knows he’s pushing it, but the wildly different emotions clogging up his best friends’ faces is just too good.

“Why’s there two of Taron’s car?” Richard shouts, extending his shoulder in a freaky angle to gesture towards the vehicles. 

“Excuse me.” Taron suddenly interrupts. “What do you mean, ‘my car’? One of them is your gift.”

Richard whirls on his fiancé in misperception. “No, I bought you a blue Jag E-type because I know you’ve always wanted one.”

“Well, I bought you a blue Jag E-type because I know you miss your old S-type.” Taron says very slowly as the reality dawns on him in waves of embarrassment. 

Something passes between them, fiancé telepathy or whatever, and very deliberately they turn to fix Jamie with the same glare. Busted.

“Surprise!” Jamie waves his hands above his head and gives them jazz hands for good measure. He’s never seen two people look so unimpressed in his life. “Happy anniversary boys!”

It wasn’t surprising for Richard to be routinely typecast as moody and secretive men equipped with a terrifying skill-set judging by the borderline savage poison gleaming in his ice eyes. He lifts his head defiantly, making Jamie involuntarily swallow. “Happy anniversary? Happy ann- why have we got matching cars?”

“Uh,” Jamie successfully maintains eye contact but finds himself taking slow steps backwards. “Cos’ it’s cute?”

With an almighty roar, Richard pushes off standing and runs towards Jamie at full pelt. Jamie just screeches and dives for the safety beckoning at the other side of the cars. 

“YOU LET ME SPEND TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND ON THE SAME FUCKING CAR HE GOT ME!” Richard bellows over the blue roofs, making Jamie cower against the bodywork and grimace.

Taron stops trying to climb over the bonnets to circle Jamie and freezes. “How bloody much? Two hundred? What poncey museum did you pay off?”

“I’m sorry for wanting to get you a perfect edition!” Richard bites back and starts swearing profusely at Jamie across the wind. “He’s gonna die for this.”

The Welshman falters. “Oh c’mon, is it such a bad thing?”  


Richard’s mouth falls open, slack. “What, that we’re gonna be driving matching attention-seekers around Kensington?” Taron still doesn’t look convinced, so he goes in for the blow. “What if people think we’re taking the piss out of Elton? Huh? Look how OTT it all is, T!”

A darkness Jamie’s never seen before settles in Taron’s eyes. His best friend flares his nostrils and puffs out his chest to help himself look taller to glower at Jamie over the wing-mirror edge.

“You are _so_ dead, fucker.” He scrambles forwards like lightning, and Jamie mentally berates himself for ever thinking screwing around with Hollywood’s sweethearts would be a good idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's hope the tropes in this don't get taken without my permission and re-written into another fic, hey!  
(And by 'tropes' I mean my interpretation of tropes that fit with my story, obviously.)
> 
> I'm also exhausted after receiving my A-level results so please be nice x


End file.
